


Many Waters Cannot Quench

by FourCatProductions



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Canon-Typical Violence, Complicated Relationships, Enthusiastic Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Found Family, Gangbang with Feelings: The Fic, Is Cherished Sex Toy a Trope, It is now, M/M, Multi, Original Character Jamboree, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:21:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23423890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FourCatProductions/pseuds/FourCatProductions
Summary: The bandits at Silent Moons camp keep to themselves - they've made a life for their little family, ugly as it is, and they intend to hold on to it. The arrival of a man with an unusual offer disrupts everything.
Relationships: Original Female Character(s)/Original Female Character(s), Original Male Character(s)/Original Female Character(s), Original Male Character(s)/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 25
Kudos: 36





	1. Fenrik

**Author's Note:**

> "Many waters cannot quench love,  
> neither can floods drown it.  
> If a man would give all the wealth of his house for love,  
> he would be utterly scorned."
> 
> \- Songs of Solomon, 8:7

“You can’t be serious.”

“I’m not, but he certainly is.” Hulbert nodded at the man in the cell. “Assuming he’s telling the truth.”

Raldyn frowned. In the year or so since they’d taken up residence at Silent Moons, the dungeon had remained empty – most people were smart enough to stay away, and he wasn’t in the habit of taking prisoners. The man sat on the straw pallet in the corner, one leg tucked up to his chest and the other stretched in front of him. He was probably mid-twenties, if Raldyn had to guess, leaner than the average Nord, with shaggy blond hair and scruff just on the verge of becoming a beard. His nose was crooked – broken at least once and badly healed, judging by the shape. Not handsome, not ugly, but his brown eyes were alight with interest, and he was tanned from the sun. Farmhand, maybe. Definitely not a mercenary, if the lack of armor or visible weapons was anything to go by. Raldyn crossed his arms, glanced back at Hulbert.

“And you brought me down here because?”

“I should have turned him out, but he was insistent that our leader at least hear his… proposal.” Hulbert’s tone made it clear what he thought of said proposal. “Should I take care of him?”

Raldyn considered. Simple as it would have been to let Hulbert handle it, and there was a part of him that was tempted to do just that, there was something in the man’s expression that gave him pause. No fear, no calculation, nothing sly or smug. Just curiosity. He shook his head. “Give me a minute to think.”

“Take your time,” the man said. “It’s warmer in here than it is out there.”

“Oi,” Hulbert said, banging his conjured blade against the bars of the cell. A shower of purple sparks rained onto the floor. “Keep quiet.”

“No, no. By all means.” Raldyn shifted his gaze back to the man, cocked his head. “You wanted to speak with me, so let’s hear this… _proposal_ of yours.”

The man smiled. He hadn’t been much to look at until then, but the smile more than made up for it.

“Well, it’s simple,” he said. “I’m not good for much, and I don’t have the coin or the skills to avoid starving to death in the wilderness for much longer. But I like people, and you lot seem decent enough, so if you give me a place to sleep and keep me fed, you can fuck me whenever you like. Sound fair?”

Hulbert gave Raldyn an _I told you_ sort of look. Raldyn remained silent, hoping it came across as intimidating instead of simply being rendered speechless. People didn’t waltz up to bandit camps and offer themselves up in exchange for food and shelter, outside of those pulpy novels he sometimes found on caravans from High Rock – you were more likely to lose your head than strike a deal, assuming you even got close enough to offer it in the first place. Either the human was simple or he was mad, and either way he wasn’t getting anywhere near Raldyn’s cock. Still, there was a bit of him that was begrudgingly impressed, and it was that bit of him now that scoffed, eyebrows raised.

“You’ve got balls, I’ll give you that.”

“Last I checked,” the man said, still smiling.

“Assuming I don’t let Hulbert here gut you like a skeever, what makes you think we’d want you?”

“Well, if I’m being honest, I watched your camp for a few days before I came here. Mostly to make sure you weren’t the ‘murder for fun’ type, but I didn’t see anyone else offering up their services.” The man shrugged one shoulder. “Seems like I’ve got the market cornered on that front.”

“How do we know those bastards at Halted Stream didn’t put you up to this?” Hulbert cut in, blade still fizzing in his hand. “They’ve been making moves on our territory for weeks now. Sending in a spy would be the smartest thing they’ve done in ages.”

“I watched them for a bit, too,” the man said. “The camp just up the river, right?” Raldyn nodded, a quick jerk of his chin. “Unpleasant bunch. Mammoth butchers aren’t my idea of good company.”

“Oh, and we are?”

“Why not? You keep to yourselves, and you haven’t tried to kill me yet.” He looked between them. “Obviously, if you’re not interested, I’ll get out of your hair, but the offer is genuine. All I ask is that you give it some consideration.”

“You’re not really in a position to ask for anything,” Raldyn told him, and he shrugged again, grin crooked.

“Fair enough. Do you mind if I stay in here while you decide, though? Colder out there than a hagraven’s teat.”

Autumn had been unusually frigid that year, promising a vicious winter, and Raldyn grunted, scratching his chin. Hulbert had already told him the man was unarmed, and he couldn’t steal if he was locked up. Another moment’s consideration, and he gave in. “Fine.”

The man’s face brightened, smile blinding. Hulbert shot him another look, sharper this time.

“Boss. You’re not actually – “

Footsteps sounded on the stairwell, echoing off the stone, and Jytte came clattering in, bow slung across her shoulders and cropped black hair windblown. When she caught sight of the man, she stopped short, one foot still on the bottom step.

“Who the fuck is that?”

“Fenrik,” the man offered helpfully, craning his head to look at her. “Call me Fen.”

“No one cares,” Hulbert told him, and he raised his hands in mock-surrender, still smiling.

“No problem, just trying to be accommodating.”

“I’ve got something you can accommodate – “

“Hulbert, put the damn sword away.” Raldyn sighed. Today wasn’t going at all according to plan, and it was barely mid-morning. “He showed up a couple of hours ago. Wants to be our sex slave.”

Jytte squinted. “He what?”

“Not exactly,” the man – Fen – put in. “I’m here of my own free will. I’d be more like… a companion. A pet, even.”

“More like another mouth to feed,” Hulbert muttered, expression murderous.

“Huh.” Jytte peered into the cell, freckled face scrunched. “Why?”

“Like I was telling your friends, I’m not good for much else.” He said it the same way one might say that the sky was blue – stating a fact, with no hint of self-pity. “But I like people and I like sex, so this seemed like my best option. Better than starving or freezing to death, anyway.”

It was Jytte’s turn to shrug. “Can’t argue with that.” Hulbert opened his mouth, but she beat him to the punch, turning to Raldyn. “So, is he staying, or not?”

“Er,” Raldyn said.

Hulbert spluttered. “You _want_ him to stay?”

“Why not? I haven’t had a good fuck since Darrin got himself murdered, and none of you bastards are up to the job.” She looked back at Fen. “You like women too, yeah?”

Fen grinned. “I like everyone.”

“Right. Well, you’ve got my vote.” She smacked Hulbert’s shoulder. “Take the stick out of your ass. You’ll be a lot happier if you’ve got a cock up there instead, I promise.”

“Jytte, I swear to – “

“I’m going to tell Caleth and Yakhu,” Jytte said brightly, and sprinted back up the stairs before either of them could stop her, bow banging against her armored back. Hulbert gave Raldyn an injured look, as if he were personally responsible for all of this, punctuated with a nasty glare in Fen’s direction.

“Now we’re never going to hear the end of it.”

“Quit whining,” Raldyn snapped, and pointed at Fen. “You. Be quiet and stay down here. No funny business.”

“Not a problem. Can’t pick a lock to save my life,” Fen said cheerfully, followed by a yawn. “I think I’m going to nap, if that’s alright. Haven’t had a decent night’s sleep in weeks, and I’d like to be well-rested if you do turn me out.”

“Fine,” Raldyn said, trying not to look as disconcerted as he felt. “Do whatever you want in there, just… keep quiet.”

“Thanks.”

Even more disconcerting was how genuine Fen sounded, as if Raldyn were doing him a great favor. He settled down on the pallet, closing his eyes, and within seconds his breathing evened out, lanky frame sprawled on the straw. Raldyn grabbed Hulbert’s shoulder and hustled him up the stairs, locking the door to the dungeon behind them. Hulbert jerked away, still fuming with his face all red. His eyes were very blue.

“What the fuck, Raldyn?”

Past ‘Boss’ and onto his given name, then. He really was pissed. Raldyn met his gaze, held it until he looked away. “Stop being so damn paranoid, will you? He’s not a spy.”

“Really. And you know that how?”

 _His eyes,_ Raldyn almost said, but bit it back at the last second, unsure where it had come from. Fen’s eyes were honest in a way he rarely saw in their occupation, open and unguarded. Raldyn had known spies, even been one for a time, and no spy had eyes like that. The best ones could fake it for a time, but something deep in his gut told him this was the genuine article.

“Too stupid,” he said instead, leaning against the door. “Too stupid, and too bold. He would have gotten himself killed ages ago if he were a spy. What kind of gambit is ‘let me be your sex pet’, anyway?”

Hulbert grunted, which meant he was conceding the point. “I still don’t like him.”

“You don’t like anyone. Especially if they’re being nice to you.”

“Boss, with all due respect, shut the fuck up.”

“Oi!” Yakhu appeared in the opposite doorway, massive arms crossed over her chest and tusks on display. “What’s this about a sex slave in the dungeon?”

Raldyn groaned. Today was definitely not going as planned.

*****

There were seven of them at Silent Moons, but only six present – Sintabe was out hunting, and would be back whenever it suited him. There was cured venison and dried fruit for supper, along with plenty of ale, and over his third bottle Raldyn did his best to explain the turn things had taken. He still wasn’t sure how to feel, and true to form, the others weren’t interested in helping.

“So,” Caleth said when he was done, “you’re saying there’s a man in the dungeon, who said we can fuck him as much as we like, as long as we feed him and give him a place to sleep.”

“More or less.”

She blinked huge golden eyes at him. “What’s the big deal, then?” Hulbert made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat, and got a bit of dried apple flicked at him for his trouble. “I’m just saying! This is the opposite of a problem.”

“Of course it’s a fucking problem,” Hulbert snapped, knuckles white around the half-finished ale in his hand. “A stranger turning up on our doorstep, offering something that’s too good to be true, usually means it _is_ too good to be true.”

“Or maybe he really is who he says he is, and we keep him around for a good time,” Jytte said, mouth full of venison. “I know you don’t believe in fun, but I don’t see why I have to suffer for it.”

Hulbert bared his teeth at her. “Fine. When we get our throats slit in our sleep because you were all too busy thinking with your bits instead of your brains, I’ll be sure to take comfort in that.”

“Will you all stop arguing? You’re giving me a damn headache.” Raldyn finished off his ale and set the empty bottle aside, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. “Can’t fucking hear myself think.”

Everyone shut up for a brief, blissful moment, punctuated only by the wind scraping the walls outside and the crackle of the fire in the hearth. Unfortunately, it wasn’t in Caleth’s nature to be quiet for long.

“Well, I want to meet him before you decide.” She pouted prettily in Raldyn’s direction. “We should all get a say.”

“Don’t get excited,” Hulbert said. “He’s not much to look at.”

“Long as his cock works, I don’t care what he looks like,” Jytte said, and took a long pull of her ale. “Besides, it’s not like this kind of thing comes along every day. We ought to take advantage.”

Yakhu had kept her thoughts to herself until then, broad face inscrutable, but at Jytte’s words she shifted in her seat, chin propped on her fist. “If you wanna make sure he’s for real,” she said, “we could give him a trial run.”

Raldyn cocked one eyebrow. Out of their little band, Yakhu was the most level-headed, and he couldn’t deny that a part of him was curious to hear her proposition. “What kind of trial run?”

“Let him stay for a couple of days, put him to work. Maybe leave something valuable where he’s likely to stumble across it. Something worth enough to get him to the next city.” She ran her fingers through her long black hair, tucking it behind one pointed green ear. “If he doesn’t steal from us, he’s probably serious.”

Caleth clapped her hands together gleefully, eyes sparkling. “Perfect! And if he is serious, then we can keep him. I like it.”

“Alright, well, that’s three for, one against, and one undecided,” Jytte said. “Alorn, you’ve heard both sides. What’s your vote?”

Alorn set his flagon down, enormous hand curled around the base. Yakhu was big, but he was bigger, all barrel-chested seven feet of him with his wild silver beard and braided hair. He didn’t speak unless he’d deemed what he had to say important enough to voice it, and all eyes at the table shifted to him.

“Give him a trial run,” he said. “Can’t hurt.”

Hulbert groaned and put his head in his hands, but it was drowned out by Caleth’s triumphant giggle and Jytte clinking her mug against his. Raldyn sighed.

“Fine. But we wait until Sintabe’s back before I make the call. Everyone else got a say, might as well hear from him too.”

“Perfect,” Hulbert said bitterly. “Leave it up to the cat.”

*****

Asking was a formality, more or less, since Raldyn thought he knew what the answer would be, but fair was fair. They’d only made it this far by giving everyone an equal voice, even if it came down to him to make the final call. Sintabe showed up a few hours later, a brace of rabbits and pheasants in tow, his rust-brown fur matted and damp. It had begun to storm not long before, and each clap of thunder shook the building like the mountains themselves were dancing to its rhythm. He dried off and poured himself a slug of mead while he listened to Raldyn’s recounting of the afternoon’s events, sprinkling in a pinch of moon sugar on top. How he could stand the taste, Raldyn didn’t know, but he claimed Skyrim’s mead wasn’t nearly sweet enough for his liking.

“This one sees no harm in a… ‘trial run’.” He drained his mug, licked his lips with a rough pink tongue. “If he is with the Halted Stream _jekosiit,_ we get rid of him. If he is not, we keep him. This seems agreeable, no?”

“Hulbert’s against it. The rest are for it, I suppose. Some moreso than others.”

Sintabe’s long, tufted ears flicked, some Khajiit gesture with meaning Raldyn couldn’t parse. “And you?”

“I don’t know,” Raldyn admitted, leaning back in his seat. “It’s not every day this sort of thing just falls into your lap, is it?”

“And yet, you hesitate.” Sintabe sunk into the chair across from him, tail curling around the rungs. “Why?”

It was a good question. Raldyn had been asking himself the same thing all day. “It just doesn’t seem right,” he finally said. “Something like that being so easy.”

“Perhaps.” Sintabe poured himself another generous slug of mead and sprinkled in a second pinch of sugar, lapping the excess from his fingers. “Tell Khajiit something. We are all here because we choose to be, yes? We had other roads open to us, but this is the one we tread.”

“True enough.”

“Why should it be any different for this man? If you do not like the path you are given, you make your own.” He grinned, lips curling back from long yellow teeth. “Sintabe should like to meet the brave fool who asks bandits to love him.”

Raldyn snorted. “Well, when you put it like that…”

“Is that agreement this one hears?”

“Fine, fine. I’ll give him a trial run, see how he does. If he proves we can trust him, he can stay. If we can’t, something tells me Hulbert will be more than happy to take care of the matter.”

“Sintabe thinks Hulbert is in desperate need of the fool’s services.” He let out a deep laugh, purr-like in the back of his throat. “More than the rest of us.”

“You’re not wrong, my friend.” Raldyn picked up his ale, and the clink of their flagons echoed in the empty chamber, drowned out almost instantly by the gale outside. “Not wrong at all.”

*****

It was still raining the next morning, but the storm had faded from a roar to a grumble, and Raldyn woke to the last embers of his fire sizzling damply in a cold room. The wooden slats he’d installed across the windows when they’d first moved in were broken again, and the wind ran frigid fingers through his hair. Grumbling, he got up to discover they were nearly out of firewood, and stomped out into the hall, bear pelt draped around his shoulders like a cloak. Nobody else was up yet, so he got the fire going in the kitchen with the wood that was left, and put together a makeshift breakfast – toasted bread with cheese, apple and cold pheasant breast, along with a mug of water to wash it down. A second, smaller plate was made, which he took down into the dungeon, balancing it on his forearm while he unlocked the door. The hinges creaked.

“Wake up.”

Fen stirred. He didn’t appear to have moved from the pallet since Raldyn had last seen him, eyes half-lidded and face lax with the remnants of sleep. There was straw stuck in his hair. He sat up as Raldyn unlocked the cell door long enough to put the plate and mug on the floor, then locked it again. His expression wavered, shifted to something almost awed, and he shot Raldyn a grateful smile as he took both and settled back on the pallet. He ate like he hadn’t seen food in a week, and Raldyn watched him, discomfort brewing in the pit of his stomach. He wasn’t usually in the business of feeling pity, but there was something about Fen’s open gratitude that gave him pause. If he was a liar, he was the best Raldyn had seen in a long time.

“Listen,” he said, mostly to distract himself from the sight. “We’ve decided to let you stay on a trial basis.”

Fen paused, cheeks stuffed with bread and cold cuts. He chewed slowly, swallowed. Washed it down with a swig of water. “Really?”

“Provided, of course, that you do what we say and don’t complain. If you can manage that, I might consider a more permanent arrangement.” Raldyn crossed his arms. “Wipe that smile off your face, will you? This isn’t going to be a seaside stroll. We’re putting you to work.”

“Fair enough,” Fen said, but the smile remained. It really was an alarmingly nice smile. “When do I start?”

“As soon as you’re done. There are a whole host of barrels that need breaking down for firewood, and the camp could use a thorough cleaning. Unless, of course, that’s too challenging for you.”

Fen’s plate was empty now, littered with crumbs. He set it aside and unfolded long limbs, stretching until his back and wrists cracked, rolling his neck with a yawn. “Nothing I haven’t done before,” he said. “Just point me in the right direction.”

Raldyn gave him a hatchet and sent him to the larder with instructions to break down every empty barrel he came across. When it dried out, they’d send him to gather wood from the pine-choked woods up the hill. It was time to start stocking up, before winter came. He pulled up a chair and sat nearby – not quite in front of the larder, but near enough, where Fen could see him through the doorway – sharpening his axes to a gleam. If it bothered Fen, he gave no indication. The steady _thunk_ of metal biting into wood echoed as he broke down yet another barrel, pausing only to blot his forehead with his sleeve. His stance was poor, Raldyn noted, and his swing clumsy. Not someone with much experience holding a weapon, then. He was about halfway done by the time Hulbert and Jytte showed up to scrounge leftovers, and the three of them watched for a while, Fen’s back bowed and wiry forearms on display. He was humming a song Raldyn didn’t recognize.

“Why the fuck did you give him a hatchet?” Hulbert asked under his breath.

“To see if he’ll attack us when he’s armed,” Jytte muttered back. “Don’t be thick.”

“You’re free to take over, if you’re so worried about it,” Raldyn said. Hulbert scowled, but said nothing further.

Fen finished around late morning, and after he hauled all their makeshift firewood to the pit, Raldyn let him have a respite for lunch. His tunic, already dirt-stained and torn, was drenched with sweat, and he smelled like he’d been wandering the wilderness for some time now that Raldyn was close enough to notice, but he wolfed down his meal in short order and stood, cracking his knuckles.

“What’s next?”

“Main camp and kitchen,” Raldyn said, and sent Hulbert to fetch him rags and a bucket filled with soapy water. After this, he decided, they’d have to get Fen a bath and some clean clothes. He didn’t want to know what the man might smell like after a few more days in their company. Jytte and Alorn were bad enough.

True to his word, Fen didn’t complain, even though he spent the rest of the day washing out pots and mugs and scrubbing floors. The others wandered in and out at random, pausing to watch him or point out spots he’d missed, or in Jytte’s case, blatantly ogle his backside while he was on his hands and knees. Only Hulbert kept his distance, mouth pressed into a thin, angry line. If Fen had any thoughts on the matter, he kept them to himself.

“You’re a lot cleaner than I imagined,” he said at one point, when he was sweeping ashes out of the firepit. “Do I need to reevaluate my ideas about bandits, or are you just unusual?”

“Unlike you Nords, I prefer not to live in filth,” Raldyn said, and Jytte made a rude gesture at him as she walked by. He returned it. “More sweeping, less talk.”

“Whatever you say,” Fen said cheerfully, and went back to clearing out the cinders.

The rain stopped before he did, and Raldyn had to admit, the camp hadn’t looked so tidy in quite some time. True to his word, he found some clothes that looked like they might fit and sent Fen off to bathe, telling him he could have what was left of their supper when he was done. He considered sending someone to watch him, but so far there hadn’t been much need, and the little fetcher might like it. Better not to push things this early on. He slouched in his seat, gnawing on a rabbit haunch, and Hulbert joined him a moment later, ale in hand.

“So that’s why you’re keeping him around, then. Free labor.”

“He did a damn sight better than any of you ever do.”

Hulbert pulled out the cork with his teeth, spat it onto the floor. “Why aren’t you watching him?”

“You’re right. The naked, half-starved creature in the tub is terrifying. I’m shaking in my boots.” Raldyn cast a jaundiced eye at him. “Give it a fucking rest, will you?”

“I’m just – “

“If he causes trouble, I’ll handle it. Like I always do.” He pointed the half-eaten leg at Hulbert. “Until then, shut your mouth and trust that I’m not a complete _s’wit_.”

Hulbert got up from the table and stalked off, bottle clenched tight in his fist. His angry footfalls faded into the hallway, and from the firepit, Alorn looked up, turning the cooking spit. Rabbit fat dripped and sizzled on the skewer, flesh starting to brown.

“He could really do with a good fuck,” he said.

*****

Days passed, each one bleeding into the next, and Raldyn was beginning to fear that Fen was, in fact, exactly who he said he was. Nothing they threw at him seemed to dissuade him. Chopping wood, scrubbing pots, curing meat, laundering clothes and oiling armor, even mucking the latrine – all were met with the same good-natured acceptance he’d displayed since he’d shown up on their doorstep. He also hadn’t been lying about not being good for much. His cooking was abominable, his skills with weaponry were passable at best, and after a day of watching him both hunt and fish, they’d all agreed it was a marvel that he’d managed to survive as long as he had in the first place. Part of Raldyn wanted to know what kind of life he’d led up until then. It couldn’t have been much, for him to wind up there. But asking questions might give Fen the wrong idea, and so he kept them to himself.

One more test, and then they’d see. He couldn’t decide if he’d be disappointed or not if it resulted in failure. Mostly it bothered him that the thought of having to kill Fen bothered him. It was the camp, he told himself. It had never been cleaner, and he’d hate to lose out on the extra pair of hands. The following morning, he woke Fen and brought him up from the dungeons to their sleeping quarters, which consisted of two large rooms and his own, smaller one. Caleth, Jytte and Yakhu shared one; Hulbert, Sintabe and Alorn the other. He’d already woken them up and kicked them out, to much complaining.

“Bedding needs to be changed, floors need mopping and sweeping, and the furs need laundering,” he said, jerking a thumb at his room. “Same goes for mine, and I want my things organized. Snoop and I’ll gut you. Are we clear?”

“As ever,” Fen said. “Why are you the only one who gets their own room?”

“Perks of holding this place together. Get it done.”

Fen tossed him a lazy little salute as he passed. He didn’t respond. He’d locked up his desk and the chest he kept below, but the ebony bust of Azura on the shelf - the one he’d lifted from a ship docking in from Solstheim - was garbed with a necklace of ruby and gold, a matching circlet on its brow. Just one piece would be enough to secure a carriage to Solitude, and a room and board besides; the whole set could buy passage out of Skyrim altogether. It was tucked away in a corner, behind the first three volumes of _A Dance in Fire,_ but anyone who bothered to look for more than a second would spot it. He went out to the central courtyard, where they kept the training dummies, and found Jytte yanking arrows out of one of them. She gave him a nod as he unhooked his axes from his belt.

“Got him cleaning the rooms early, I see.”

“Might as well get it out of the way.” He spun one, loosening his wrist, and sighted down his arm. The blade, freshly sharpened, sliced through the air and thudded into the dummy’s chest. “We’ll see how he fares.”

“Careful,” Jytte said. “I might start to think you’re growing fond of him.”

“Hardly. I’d just hate to get blood all over my nice clean floor.” The second axe hovered in his hand, gleaming, a split second before it bit into the dead center of the target. “You, on the other hand… I’m surprised you haven’t pounced on him yet.”

“What, and lose out on another good fuck because he turns out to be a thief? Not likely.” She flashed him a grin that was more teeth than lips. “Besides, it’s more fun if you make yourself wait.”

“Since when have you ever made yourself wait for anything?”

“This is different. Whole situation’s different, really.” She squinted off in the distance, where the cloudless blue sky blurred gray at the horizon. “It’s going to storm again.”

“Caleth will be glad.” She’d been cultivating a garden at the base of the camp since early spring, and summer had proven harsh on their produce, wilting everything but the hardy mountain flowers; the frequent rain had renewed it, and she was predicting a harvest that would last well into winter. He wrenched his axes free, spat on the ground. Fucking province was always so damn _damp,_ no matter the season. “Makes one of us, at least.”

“That’s why you and Hulbert get along so well,” Jytte said. “You’re not happy unless you’ve got something to complain about.”

“Better that than the grinning _n’wah_ scrubbing out my bedpan.” Fen’s smile drifted through his thoughts, wide and bright, and he shifted irritably. What did he have to be so happy about, anyway? Jytte stuffed her arrows back in her quiver, punched him in the arm. It was almost affectionate.

“Miserable bastards, through and through. I’m going to find lunch.”

He didn’t see Fen again until well into the afternoon, while he was eating leftover fish-head stew and poring over his map of the surrounding territories. Caravans usually came in from Elsweyr and High Rock around this time of year, plying their wares before the first snows fell, and they needed to locate at least one more windfall before trade dried up altogether. He wasn’t worried about the little fetcher slipping out unnoticed – Hulbert’s paranoia was useful enough when harnessed correctly – but he still found himself on edge, his thoughts unfocused and flitting off in all directions. He’d just finished his meal when Fen came strolling into the room, hauling the broom and a bucket of filthy water.

“Bedding’s almost dry,” he announced. “I don’t know how you like things organized, so I just guessed. You’ll have to tell me how I managed.”

“Fine.” Raldyn nodded at the bucket, water sloshing precariously close to its rim. “Go dump that out before you spill it everywhere.”

“On my way,” Fen said. He made it to the doorway before he paused again, glancing over his shoulder. “Oh, and Raldyn?”

“What?” Raldyn snapped.

“I saw the bust on your shelf… Azura, if I’m not mistaken. You might want to put it in a safer place.” His eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled. “It looks too valuable to just be sitting there like that.”

“When I want your opinion, I’ll ask for it,” Raldyn said. “Now get out.”

Fen chuckled and went outside, whistling tunelessly. Raldyn watched the long line of his back until the door swung shut behind him, pen clutched forgotten in his fist. Something stirred in the pit of his belly, a slow hot spread that made his skin prickle, like embers coming back to life. Like a house starting to catch fire.

*****

It was well past midnight, and rain beat against stone in a dull, unceasing roar. Snoring added to the chorus – Alorn could put a lumber mill to shame most nights. Raldyn, for his part, had yet to sleep. Fen had patched up the shutter so the wind and wet no longer crept in, and tidied the room, studiously avoiding everything that looked like it was worth even the slightest bit of gold. He’d tried reading, and when that didn’t work, bringing himself off, but even that only kept him occupied until he finished cleaning the mess off his hand. Restlessness had seeped into his bones like the autumn chill, and there was nothing to relieve it. When he could stand to lay in bed no longer, he got up and lit one of the wall sconces with a snap of his fingers, freeing it from the wall.

The dungeon was dank, mustier than it had ever seemed, and in the cell Fen shivered beneath his borrowed furs, teeth chattering. The firelight spilled into the room, shadows pooling around him, and at the creak of the hinges he sat up, pelts sliding off his shoulders. He didn’t say anything. Just squinted up at Raldyn, half-asleep and baffled. One hand stole up to scrub at his eyes.

“Did I miss a spot?”

“Congratulations,” Raldyn said, and unlocked the cell. The door swung open. “You pass.”


	2. Jytte

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "As the apple tree among the trees of the wood,  
> so is my beloved among the sons.  
> I sat down under his shadow with great delight,  
> his fruit was sweet to my taste."
> 
> \- Song of Solomon, 2:3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags and content warnings are in the end notes.

Jytte’s mother died when she was ten. There was no great story there, no tale of loss and revenge; she’d given birth to a stillborn son and bled out an hour later, sheets and mattress stained red. She was hardly the only one. Happened all the time. Jytte rarely thought about it, except for when the memories snuck up on her: work-worn hands braiding her hair or hanging laundry on the line, windy autumn nights, a laugh like a summer afternoon. She’d done a good job at drinking the rest away.

She’d never had a father. There were father-shaped words ( _drunk, liar, gone_ ), words she remembered being spat out or sobbed, but if she’d known him, he hadn’t left an impression. Her mother had never said where her unknown brother came from, either. The only time she’d ever wished she had known him was when the village hetman came to her a week later to explain that she was being sent to Riften, to live in an orphanage. None of them could take her in – they had children of their own to feed, and never enough food to go around. If she’d had a father, she wouldn’t have had to go, she remembered thinking, struggling and crying as they loaded her onto the carriage like so much cargo, and in that moment she’d never hated anyone more. As she’d gotten older, she’d convinced herself it wouldn’t have made a difference. He probably wouldn’t have wanted her anyway.

She’d stayed at Honorhall for two years, five months, and eleven days, and each one had carved another notch out of her heart. As soon as she turned thirteen, the eligible age for an acolyte, she’d gone straight to the Temple of Mara. Betla, the priestess who ran the place, was a soft touch who could always be counted on to give the children and beggars extra rations, and Jytte had heard her pleading with Grelod more than once to be allowed to visit Honorhall and pray for them. Jytte didn’t give a solitary shit about Mara or any of the Divines – it wasn’t like they’d done anything for her – but she was willing to pretend. Betla had taken one look at her tear-stained face and the bruise fading on her cheek and brought her inside, insisting they’d find her some robes that fit, and that was that. Three years beneath Mara’s benevolent eye, learning rites and prayer for a goddess she barely believed in, and as soon as she turned sixteen she ran. She still thought about Betla sometimes, and Dinya, the other acolyte. Wondered if they were still there. If they’d recognize her, and if so, if they’d smile or turn the other way. Half the reason she’d left was because it didn’t feel right, making a mockery of the only two people who’d been kind to her in years. The other half was because she couldn’t stand it for a second longer.

She’d stolen a horse and a dagger and ridden west, with no destination other than _away._ She’d lost the horse somewhere in the foothills of the Throat.

They were riding along the scant cobblestone path, the mountain’s enormous shadow falling over them like night when a roar rang out from the slope. It sent a flock of thrush bursting from the trees, screeching in alarm, and Jytte’s horse reared and whinnied in panic, forelegs raking through the air. She was still scrawny then, without muscle or fat, and she’d lost her grip and tumbled off, landing hard on her side.

“Wait!” she yelled, scrambling to her feet, but the horse, a young piebald stallion without the training to temper his speed, had already taken off down the road in a shower of dust. He left her far, far behind, and even though she ran as fast as she could, he was soon little more than a speck in the distance. She slowed to a stumble, then a halt, hands on her knees. Every breath pierced her lungs. Eventually, when her heart slowed and she no longer felt like she was going to be sick, she began walking, glancing over her shoulder every few seconds. The roar earlier had been a bear, and she wasn’t about to become dinner before she even made it to Whiterun.

Midday came with no signs of a bear, and Jytte loped on, feet aching. It felt like she’d walked miles, but she was still in the shadow of the great mountain, its thorny peak disappearing into the clouds. She was starting to wonder if she’d ever get out from under it. She’d only brought what she could carry, a few septims in the lining of her boot and a kerchief filled with hardtack and dried venison, and she nibbled on a strip while she walked, to keep her stomach from snarling. She’d been aiming to reach the next hold before she ran out of food, but now that seemed unlikely, and worry gnawed at her gut worse than the hunger. She was sucking on a flat pebble to slake her thirst when she heard wheels.

A carriage came trundling around the bend, dirt crunching beneath its wheels and the steady _clip-clop_ of the horse’s hooves. A man sat astride the driver’s seat, sunburnt and weathered – not old, but older than her. Jytte turned and limped back towards him, fast as she could go, and he slowed the carriage to a halt, reins bunched in his fist.

“Woah,” he said to the horse, “woah,” and then: “What’s the trouble, little miss?”

Jytte bristled, but managed to keep it from showing on her face. “Sorry, sir, but my horse ran off a while ago, and I’m trying to get to Whiterun. Are you headed that way?”

“Aye,” the carriage driver said, and her heart leapt. “Rorikstead, to be fair, but Whiterun’s on the way.” His gaze slid over her, lingering on her face. “Where’d you come from?”

“The Rift.” She swallowed, dry throat aching. “Please, sir, if it’s not too much trouble, could I ride with you? I need to get there as quick as I can.”

The driver considered her a moment longer, then nodded, patting the seat beside him. “Climb up, then. Ain’t safe, girl like you traveling all alone.”

Something about the way he said it made Jytte’s skin prickle, alarm crawling across the back of her neck, but she shoved it down and scrambled into the carriage, gasping out her thanks. Anything was better than walking in that moment.

“I don’t have any money,” she told him, biting her lip, and he slapped the reins against the horse’s neck, clicking his tongue. The carriage jolted forward with a lurch.

“Ain’t expecting any.”

They traveled in silence, save for the birds in the trees and the horse’s hooves beating against the ground. The man didn’t seem interested in talking, which was a relief, but Jytte occasionally felt his eyes on her like a physical caress. She knew what it meant when men looked at you like that, and it was different from the way the young merchant Bolli looked at Dinya when he came by to donate to the temple, or the way she’d seen the dockworkers at the new bunkhouse look at Haelga before they disappeared into her room for the night – no sign of Mara’s love, or even Dibella’s. She did, however, learn that he was called Daglin, and he was a farmer, on his way back to Rorikstead after trading his wares in Riverwood.

“And what do I call you?”

“Haelga,” Jytte said. It was the first thing that came to mind. She didn’t want to hear her real name in his mouth. Not the way he repeated it, rolling it around on his tongue while he looked at her like a fox eyeing a henhouse. When he turned back to the road, she shivered.

The rest of the day’s ride was unbearable, her stomach knotted tight. Still, Daglin made no move to touch her, or say anything untoward when he did speak, and by the time night fell, she’d almost managed to convince herself that she’d imagined it. She was traveling alone, hungry and exhausted; it was natural to be on edge. She was still wearing her acolyte’s robes, since those were the only clothes she owned, with a dagger in her boot for protection and not much else, and she found herself irritated. Just because she looked like easy prey didn’t mean she had to act like it. She sat up straight as the carriage began to slow, turning off the road.

“Where are we going?”

“It’s getting dark,” Daglin said. There was a flat field nearby, long grass rippling in the breeze, and torchbugs already blinked in the distance like living stars. “Better to camp for the night, start fresh in the morning.”

Jytte swallowed, trying to calm her racing heart. “Oh.” No such luck – it felt like it was going to pound right through her chest and fall into her lap, still beating. “I was hoping to get to Whiterun tonight…?”

The carriage rolled to a stop, the horse lowering its head to graze, and Daglin finally turned to look at her, reins still bunched in one broad fist. “No reason to be in such a hurry. Weather’s good, and I’ve got food and water for a few days yet, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Jytte stared at him, somewhere between uncertain and relieved. It curdled as his expression shifted, mouth stretching beneath his beard. His smile was all teeth. “Gives us plenty of time to discuss how you’re gonna pay me.”

“But, you said,” she said, hating how her voice quavered in the empty air. “You didn’t expect me to – ”

“I said, I ain’t expecting any _money._ ” His free hand, the one not holding the reins, came up and touched the hair that had come loose from her braid, rubbing it between thumb and forefinger. She hadn’t cut her hair in a long time, and even contained it fell halfway down her back, thick and unruly. He smelled like dirt and sweat and hay, his gaze crawling over her chest and down into her lap. “You want me to take you the rest of the way, there’s a different kind of payment we can work out.”

He really did think she was easy prey; that she was some trembling priestess-to-be, ripe for the plucking. Rage, long-simmering, settled cold into her bones. The dagger in her boot was one she’d stolen from the arms dealer in the marketplace, long and sharp with a carved bone handle. In one motion, she pulled it free and drove it into Daglin’s palm, pinning his hand to the wooden slats of the carriage.

Whatever he’d been expecting, it wasn’t that, and his howl of pain echoed across the field. She planted her foot against the seat and yanked it free in a gush of blood. The sight bothered her less than she’d thought it might.

“You little _bitch,_ ” he hissed, face gone pale and ruined hand clutched to his chest. He let go of the reins and lunged across the seat at her, but pain made him clumsy, and she scrabbled backwards, kicking at him. Her boot collided with his chin, snapping his head back and sending him reeling, and then she was on him, collar of his tunic balled in her fist. He froze as her dagger nudged between his legs, lips peeled back in a snarl. Still angry, but now there was fear there too, and the sudden rush of power made her head swim. No, he was going to learn she wasn’t easy pickings. 

“I’m taking the carriage,” she said.

“Like hell you are,” Daglin grunted, then froze as the tip of the dagger pressed closer. Another grunt slipped out as she put her weight on the blade, this one pained.

“Either you keep the carriage, or you keep your balls, but you can’t keep both.” She grinned. “Your choice.”

Minutes later, the carriage peeled out of the field, leaving Daglin wailing in the tall, tall grass. Jytte sat in the driver’s seat, reins in her lap and a bag of provisions open on the seat next to her. She uncorked the flask of water she’d found, hands slippery, and drank. A giggle bubbled up from her chest, and she wiped her mouth without thinking, smearing blood across her face. No, he wouldn’t be bothering any other travelers that came this way again. She’d made sure enough of that. The dagger lay on the seat next to her, blade glistening black in the moonlight. So that was what freedom felt like, she thought, picking up the reins. Hot as fresh blood on your skin, and cool as a spring breeze on your face.

“Come on,” she said, giving the reins a quick tug, and the horse sped up, carriage rattling across cobblestone as they turned east. If she hurried, she’d make it to Whiterun before morning.

*****

When she woke, for a moment, Jytte didn’t know where she was. She sat bolt upright, gasping, and then it all came rushing back: Fen, her chat with Raldyn, the autumn crisp in the air. She was safe in Silent Moons, in her bed, and Daglin was years behind her. She pawed at her sleep-crusted eyes, yawning, and a delighted moan came from her left.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” she said, and yawned again. “You couldn’t even wait until I was awake?”

“Sorry,” Caleth gasped, not sounding sorry at all, and squirmed, thighs clenching on either side of Yakhu’s head. “It’s practically afterno – _oh_ – “ Her eyes fluttered closed, fists buried in Yakhu’s hair, and Yakhu made some kind of muffled noise that sounded like agreement, forearms hooked around Caleth’s hips. Whatever she did next made Caleth squeak and writhe on top of her, naked bronze skin gleaming with sweat, and Jytte rolled her eyes and threw off the covers, swinging her legs over the side of the bed.

“By all means. Don’t let me interrupt you.”

“No worries, we won’t,” Caleth chirped, cheeks flushed, and the thick ridge of blonde hair decorating her skull fell over her forehead as she melted against Yakhu’s mouth.

“Not that you ever do,” Jytte mumbled, face warm despite herself. She left them to it and wandered out into the hall, where the scent of roasted meat and veg beckoned her to the common room. Everyone else was awake and, thankfully, dressed, and she was only half-surprised to see Fen among them. He gave her a wink and went back to shoveling stew down his gullet like it was the last meal he was going to see for some time, and she went to ladle herself out a bowl, hiding a grin. She hadn’t expected to see him out of the dungeon this soon – maybe Hulbert was right and Raldyn really was going soft. Not that she minded. Anticipation settled low and warm in her belly, and she savored it for a moment before pushing it aside. She’d waited a week already, and she intended to enjoy this. Another few hours wouldn’t kill her.

Raldyn’s map was spread open across the center of the table, routes outlined in thick black rivers of ink. He nodded at her when she sat down, tapping a finger in the middle of one that ran just past Whiterun proper.

“This is the road the caravans usually take when they come in from the south, on their way to Solitude. We’ll need to start watching it soon if we’re going to turn a profit before winter.”

“This one will look next time he goes out hunting,” Sintabe said. “The last caravans from Elsweyr begin to arrive at the end of Frostfall, if tradition holds.”

“Good. Take someone with you, send them back if you spot anything.”

Jytte took a bite of stew, watching Fen out of the corner of her eye. If the conversation bothered him, it didn’t show. Somehow, she didn’t think he minded much either way – he’d known what they were when he showed up, after all. She’d heard Caleth asking Raldyn where he’d come from the other day – where, and why. She hadn’t bothered to listen to Raldyn’s answer, because she already knew. It happened all the time. Villages got raided by bandits, or raked over the coals by sickness, or the harvest wasn’t good enough and winter swept in with its cold white jaws, leaving only ghosts and bones behind. Fen’s brow wrinkled when he caught her looking at him, and he tilted his head, inquisitive. She held it for a moment longer, then looked away. Whatever he was carrying with him, she thought she knew how it felt.

After lunch there was nothing to do, so she went out of the camp and down the hill to the river that ran through the plain, fishing pole over her shoulder and bucket in hand. She didn’t particularly like fish, but Sintabe did, especially the plump histcarp that populated Skyrim’s waters, and it was better than nothing. She got restless if her hands went too long without being occupied. She sat down on the bank, hook baited, and unbidden, the memory of that morning flashed through her mind: Caleth panting, Yakhu’s scarred hands cupping her ass. She scowled and pressed her thighs together, trying to soothe the jealous ache, but it didn’t help.

It had been almost a year since she’d had a proper tumble, since Darrin wound up with an arrow through the throat during a raid on a merchant’s caravan. She’d killed the guard who’d done it, but killing didn’t bring anything back to life. Only gave her a moment’s satisfaction, followed by a yawning emptiness. He’d been a bastard, Darrin, but he knew how to fuck the way she liked it, and he’d had plenty of experience, which she liked more. She didn’t have the patience to teach anyone what to do, or for lovers who didn’t know what they wanted. She’d considered her other options, and found them wanting – Sintabe only liked men, she wasn’t usually much for other women, and in the time she’d known him, Alorn had never expressed a preference one way or the other. She would have fucked Raldyn if he’d shown any interest – she found Dunmer rather attractive, in a pointy sort of way – but he wouldn’t even do it with Hulbert, and those two had been dancing around each other the entire time she’d known them. And where did that leave her? Wound up like a Dwemer cog and tired of her own hand, that was where. The line dipped, tugging her attention back to the present. She bit back a sigh and started to reel in her catch, thinking about Fen’s smile. No, he wasn’t exceptionally handsome, but there was something in that smile. Something that said he knew what you were thinking, and promised to surprise you if you gave him half a chance.

Well, he’d get his chance, and then some. She unhooked the histcarp from the line, silvery-orange scales flashing in the weak sunlight, and dropped it into the bucket with a splash. Right after dinner.

*****

For once, the night was mild, sky clear, and they ate outside where they could see the stars, a fire roaring in the pit at the center of camp. They all kept their weapons on them, in case the gang from Halted Stream decided to put in an appearance, but there was roasted fish with garlic and carrots and toasted bread with leftover stew, with enough ale to wash it all down, and for the first time in a long time, Jytte relaxed. Just a little. They ate, ribbing each other about past jobs and plunders gone wrong, and even Hulbert cracked a smile when Yakhu told the story of how her old gang robbed an entire noble estate of its chickens.

“What about you?” Caleth asked when she was done, and it took Jytte a second to realize she was talking to Fen. “Where are you from?”

“Hulmestun,” Fen said. He was lounging in front of the pit, long limbs folded up to keep them out of the way, and the firelight turned his hair gold, eyes amber like good whiskey. ‘Pet’, Jytte decided, suited him perfectly. “Little village between here and Morthal.”

“Haven’t heard of it.”

“No one has.” He tipped his head back and drank, throat bobbing when he swallowed. “I left a while ago.”

“How long?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Three, four years? Maybe five? It’s hard to keep track when it’s just you.”

Hulbert snorted. “You’re telling us that _you_ managed to survive in the wilderness for five years. By yourself.”

“Well, no. Not entirely. Sometimes I came into some coin, and I’d stay in whatever tavern I could find until it ran out. Or I’d see if a farm or a mill needed extra hands. Some of them did, for a while.” Fen’s long fingers played at the neck of the bottle, spinning it between thumb and forefinger, tugging at the label. “I was staying on a farm last, in Rorikstead, but they only needed help until after the harvest. After that… I came here.”

They’d all gone quiet as he spoke, the pop of the embers punctuating the silence, and he flashed an apologetic grin.

“Sorry. Not a very exciting story, I know.”

“Thanks for sharing,” Hulbert said flatly, and caught the point of Caleth’s bony elbow in his ribs.

The conversation picked back up after that, chatter and argument overlapping like waves on the shore, and enough chairs went tipping over as bodies crashed to the ground – Alorn and Yakhu liked to wrestle when they got drunk, and it was only a matter of time before Caleth broke out her panpipes and started warbling Valenwood lullabies. Jytte picked up her ale and stood. She’d only had one, barely enough to even make her head buzz. On her way out, she took Fen by his elbow and drew him a short distance away, lips brushing his ear.

“Wait five minutes, then come to the sleeping quarters. I want to hear another story.”

She went into their sleeping quarters and sat on her bed, kicking off her boots, and a few minutes later Fen appeared in the doorway. He made no move to step towards her, and she was almost annoyed, until she realized he was waiting for an invitation.

“You can come in.”

He stepped inside, but didn’t move any further, eyes on hers. “You said you wanted to hear another story.”

She leaned back on her elbows, took a swig of her ale before setting it aside. “Is this how you paid for your keep at those farms and mills?”

“Sometimes. If I liked them.” His hands twitched at his sides, like he didn’t know quite where to put them. “Does that bother you?”

“Tell me,” she said, and started unbuckling her cuirass.

It was cold in the room, the light from the torches the only heat, and she shrugged out of her jacket and undid her belt, nipples hard against her thin linen undershirt. Fen’s gaze drifted down, then back up to her face, and he stepped forward until he was close enough to touch. Not a game, she was starting to realize, but an unwillingness to intrude. He was letting her set the pace, and the low throb of arousal was back, stronger now, curling between her thighs.

“Tell me,” she said again, and lifted her hips so she could roll her breeches down her legs and kick them away, leaving her in nothing but the shirt. Fen exhaled, nodded, and then his breath caught when she went up on her knees on the mattress and started undoing his belt as well.

“Which time?”

“Any of them.” She undid the button and tugged his breeches and smallclothes down, palmed his thighs. He was lean, but surprisingly muscular, and his skin was hot, the pale gold hair on his legs coarse under her hands. “Doesn’t matter.” He was more than halfway hard now, the head of his cock flushed where it rose from his foreskin, and it twitched when she rubbed her cheek against it, turning her face to flick her tongue across the tip. It had been a long time since she’d gotten to do this, and he tasted like salt and musk and his clothes smelled just the tiniest bit like smoke from the bonfire. She was already starting to ache.

“I stayed with a farmer once, somewhere outside Falkreath.” Fen’s voice was remarkably steady, but his muscles were tense, and he twitched again when she wrapped her hand around the base of his cock. “He had kind eyes and he let me eat with him every night, as long as I helped him keep the place running. Let me stay in their basement, instead of in the barn like most people.” The last word bled into a moan when she bent her head to take him into her mouth, and he put his hand on the wall, steadying himself. “One night, I got up and went out to take a piss, and when I came back, he was down there. Waiting for me.”

She stroked him a bit while she sucked on the head, tongue playing at the edge of his foreskin, feeling the weight of him in her hand. When she pulled off, he groaned. “Did he fuck you?”

“Wanted me to fuck him, actually.” Fen let out a shaky laugh, shifting his weight. “He liked to kiss, too. Had a nice mouth and a nicer cock. He was good, too, the couple of times he wanted to do it to me. I think he just liked someone else – _ah_ – doing all the work for a change.”

“Why did you leave, then? If it was so good.”

“He was married.”

Jytte shrugged and ran her tongue along the underside of his cock, then swallowed it until her lips touched her fist. He grunted, hips twitching into her mouth involuntarily, and she dug her nails into his thigh. He fell still at once, trembling. This earned him a light caress, her free hand trailing over his ass. That was what she’d always liked best about going down on a man – the feel of it on her tongue, and of reducing him to a whimpering mess with only her mouth and the occasional touch.

“There was another time… a woman, at a mill on the White River. All her workers went off to fight when the war started, and she had no one to help her. I was there for months. She was hard on the outside but when we were alone, she was… sweet. To me.” Fen was panting now, fingers digging into the cracks of the stone wall. “She liked it best when I made her come with my mouth. Used to do it almost every day. She liked being taken care of. I only left – _fuck_ – left because they all came back. No more room after that.”

Jytte let him slide out of her mouth, fist sliding up to bunch around the head of his cock, thumb stroking the vein just below. This time, when his hips bucked, she didn’t stop him, and his eyes fluttered closed, skin slick against her palm. It squelched obscenely when he fucked into her fist. “You like taking care of people.”

“I – I guess – “ His head lolled onto his chest, cheeks flushed, and she pulled her hand away, leaving his cock to bob in midair. A bereft moan followed.

“You’re not coming until you fuck me,” she told him, “so you’d better calm down. I don’t want you going off two strokes in.”

“Fair enough,” he said, and cleared his throat, a sheepish grin creeping across his face. “You probably shouldn’t do that anymore, then. It’s been a while for me too.”

Jytte laughed despite herself, and pulled him down onto the bed.

He had a generous mouth, made for kissing, and she let herself be distracted by it while she swung her leg over and crawled on top of him. There was some shuffling and a grunted apology as she accidentally kneed him in the side, and then she tilted her hips and rubbed herself against him, fists balling in the furs on either of his head. His hands slid up her thighs to cup her hips, steadying her, and she bit his lip when the head of his cock nudged her clit. It had been too long, and the solid heat of him between her legs was enough to make her head spin. She arched her back, ground against him until they were both breathing hard and she was starting to throb, tender and slick. She tugged his shoulder until he sat up, pushing at him until he got the hint and leaned back against the headboard, resettling her into his lap. She reached down and wrapped her fist around the base of his cock again, free hand curling around the back of his neck.

“Kiss me,” she demanded, fingers twisting in his hair, and gasped against his mouth as he slid inside her.

Gods, but she’d missed the feel of something besides her own fingers, and she rolled her hips, squeezing around him. He let out a sharp exhale against her throat, left the ghost of a kiss in the dip between her collarbones. Her hands found his shoulders and hung on as she rode him, slow at first, then faster, driving her hips down onto him with each thrust. He didn’t interfere. Just let her use him how she saw fit, feet braced and knees spread. When his mouth found her nipple, hand cupping her other breast, she growled and wrapped her arms around his head, holding him in place while she fucked herself. He didn’t complain. Just sucked at her with the occasional scrape of teeth, dragging his tongue over it until it was pebble-hard and she was writhing on top of him, then switched to the other one. She pressed against his mouth, ground against him until the steady build of pleasure threatened to spill over.

“Move,” she panted, “behind me,” and then she was rolling off of him and onto her hands and knees, forearms braced against the mattress. He scrambled to comply, and she bit the pillow to muffle her yelp as he pressed inside her once more, thrusting her hips back to meet him. His hand found its way between her thighs so he could stroke her aching clit, and it was so good and unexpected that she nearly sobbed. She’d almost forgotten what it felt like, someone else touching her. He didn’t toy with her, fingers firm and wet, and a few more thrusts was all it took before she was moaning out the hardest orgasm she’d had in months into the pillow, mind gone blissfully blank. Fen was right behind her, forehead pressed between her shoulder blades and fingers digging into her hips.

Neither of them moved for a long moment, their heavy breathing the only sound in the room. Distant laughter filtered in through a gap in the slats. Jytte tensed as he pulled out, then exhaled, sagging onto the mattress. Something wet was trickling down her inner thigh, and she made a face, rolling onto her side. Fen collapsed next to her, forearm thrown across his forehead. His hair clung to his temples, damp with sweat, and he was flushed all the way down to his chest.

“Sorry,” he said. “I probably shouldn’t have done that.”

“It’s fine.” Jytte’s hand crept up to her necklace, rubbing her thumb across the charm dangling from it. Fen gave her a questioning look. “It keeps me from getting pregnant.”

“Good to know.”

“My mother died in childbirth,” Jytte said. She didn’t know why she was saying it, but her mouth kept moving, making shapes of its own accord. “As soon as I turned sixteen, I went straight to a healer and bought this.” The torchlight cast a faint orange glow over the chamber. She rolled onto her back and stared up at the ceiling, watching shadows ebb and flow across the stone. “I told myself I’d never let it happen to me.”

Fen was quiet for a moment, and Jytte fidgeted, refusing to look at him. If he apologized, she was going to stab him.

“Thank you,” he said instead, and she twisted to look at him, confused.

“For what?”

“Keeping me.” He even had a dimple on one side when he smiled. “You were the first one to say yes.”

“Well, yeah. I’m not fucking stupid,” she said, and he laughed, rolling onto his side to face her. One long finger traced a circle around her shoulder and down her arm, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

“You have freckles everywhere.”

“So?”

He shrugged. “I like it.”

Jytte stared at him, then shook her head and grinned, pulling him in for a sloppy kiss. He returned it, hand sneaking into her hair, and she sucked roughly on his lower lip before pushing him away.

“Go heat up some water and get a bath ready. I’m gonna get cleaned up.” Fen nodded and went to swing his legs over the side of the bed, but she stopped him with an arm around his waist as he sat up, pressing herself against his back. “And after I do,” she said in his ear, “you’re going to make me come with your mouth, just like you did for the nice woman at the mill every night.” His answering exhale was more like a whimper, and she bit his earlobe before letting him go with a smack on the flank. “Now get to it.”

“Fuck, I love it here,” Fen said dreamily, and went out into the hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains: M/F, some F/F, and mentions of past M/M, blowjobs, a bit of voyeurism, and unprotected vaginal sex.
> 
> Content warnings for: Mentions of death during childbirth, implied child abuse, and the threat of assault from a man to a sixteen-year-old girl. This is where the 'angst' part of the 'angst, fluff and smut' tag comes into play.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, it's me, back on my bullshit. This fic is entirely the product of a conversation between myself and Fallowsthorn (whose series about Sanguine's misadventures you should definitely check out if you're into that sort of thing) wherein a lament that the "sex toy for a gang of bandits" trope is almost never one that involves enthusiastic consent, or any kind of humanization of said bandits, and thus - this fic. Tags will be updated accordingly as needed, and if content warnings are applicable, they will be in the end notes. Blame the pandemic; this is all I can write right now. Thanks for giving it a shot, and enjoy!


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